Just like a story…

A mild wind is running all through the city. Fragmented floral yellows are scattered everywhere. The wind can become storm at times—the wind cannot be confined in. It cannot be bound by any ordinance. Can we transform ourselves to the keynote of the wind? Parash thought, lighting the next cigarette at his moonlit terrace. Can we live free, independent of all and alone like this wind? Can we spend our entire days without any worries or concern for future? Maya used to say, “One can’t always live alone. At least old age needs company.” This is the general rule. At least she thinks so.

Maya!! What was Parash’s relation with Maya? A relationship complicated or contrary to the customs of society for many but simple as a straight line for both of them. A conditional contract for a limited time span!! There wasn’t any hollow promises or compulsion or terribly frustrating sophistication—there were (Should it be in past tense? He often wonders.) only the most ancient magic mankind has ever known. And there was the circle of acquaintances that tried with the obvious hope of cornering them into an official (or social you may say) binding. Why? Is it indispensable duty for the lovers to get married? Yes, of course. You are cheating the third person(s) otherwise. Is it? We don’t think so. Yes it is! Not at all! Yes yes, it is bound to be. Radha-Krishna, Radha-Krishna—someone yells from the dusky background.

The wind has no home at all, just like the Bedouins. And what about man? (And the Bedouins?) Parash looked at the burning cigarette slowly turning into ashes. They are mortal. People are afraid of being lost—of being disappeared permanently. This is the obvious reason for them to build a home, to extend their family. A sign they want to leave behind that they loved, they laughed, they cried, ….they lived once.  This is a rule too. One who has a home, a family, a society, cannot match himself or herself with the ever-free wind.

All these thoughts reminded him of Samiran, who switched between record numbers of jobs during last four years. They used to be inside the inner circle of each other. Recently they met in Naharlagun.

: ….. I am considering staying here forever, you know, for her. Rinya. Rinya Kop her name is.

: Ow really? Finally Arunachal has got her most mischievous son-in-law then.

: ……..

Samiran has no one in this living world.  He hasn’t got any permanent address yet and thus has one of the utmost similarities with the wind. Can he be free and independent too? At this very moment the answer is no!

Parash’s mother is currently suffering from an irritably growing habit of reminding him the urgency of a daughter-in-law. Why on earth one’s attaining of earning ability should be followed by marriage?? Marriage at 30, kids at 32, kids’ school-college-university (art school-racket-medal perhaps!) kids earn wings, they find love, …. And after that? Are you allowed to wait with your grandchildren for the obvious end? When did you live according to your own chapter and verse? This might sound complicated or rather controversial but you will always be greeted there by a big ‘NEVER’!  A life 60 years long should have been more interesting than this. Parash thought. He cannot discuss all these ‘things I think’ stuff with his mother. So it is his solitary job to think.

There is nothing that happened in our life beyond principles. Nothing happened in Parash’s life or his mother’s. Nothing extra-ordinary happened in mine or your life (I wonder, did something happen in Bhupen da’s? Dali or Mamoni baideu’s?). We are no one, just a pack of ordinary people. We cannot see ourselves going outside the frame. We are no match to the wind. None of us can make Anuradha baideu’s story ‘EJON PURUSHOR GOLPO EGORAKI NARIR GILPO’ actually happen. Not Samiran. Not Parash. Even Maya can’t make it happen.

(‘EJON PURUSHOR GOLPO EGORAKI NARIR GOLPO’ is a short story from Anuradha Sarma Puzari’s collection named ‘KETHERINAR SOITE ETA NIRJAN DUPORIYA’. My sincere apology to baideu, my favourite author.)